THIS NOT A SIMPLE LOVE STORY. THIS SOMETHING BEYOND LOVE STORY. She is running. Her breath is sharp and uneven, her chest burning as if it might collapse any second, but she does not stop. The ground beneath her feet is rough, her steps unstable, yet she keeps moving, faster, harder, as if stopping even for a moment would cost her everything. The night around her is unnaturally silent, thick and suffocating, but somewhere within that silence, a faint fufkaar (hissing sound) lingers, low and dangerous, trailing behind her like a shadow that refuses to leave. She does not turn back. She does not slow down. She runs until her body begins to give in, until her legs tremble and her breath turns shallow, until the fear inside her starts clawing its way out. And then, all at once, she stops. The sudden stillness feels louder than the chase. For a moment, she stands frozen, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her heartbeat echoing violently in her ears. Slowly, as if afraid of what she might see, she turns back. There is nothing. No movement. No sound. No sign that anyone or anything had been there. Only darkness. A long breath leaves her lips as her body weakens with relief. She lifts her hand to her chest, steadying herself, trying to convince her racing mind that it was nothing, that whatever she felt was not real. Her eyes slowly close, as if she is forcing herself to believe in that lie. But the moment she opens them, everything inside her stops. Right in front of her, so close that she cannot even step back, two glowing red eyes stare directly into hers, still, unblinking, and terrifyingly real.

#Top10 in India (9/7/2026) #Top5 in India (9/2/2026)-(4/7/2026) #Top4 in India (11/2/2026)-(10/5/2026) #Top3 in India (11/5/2026) ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ His large, calloused hand wrapped gently around my throat-not to hurt, but to own. The cold silver of my waist chain pressed into my bare stomach as he pinned me flush against the heavy mahogany of his study desk. "You think you can hide from me, Little Bird?" His voice was a lethal, gravelly whisper against my ear, sending a violent shiver of wet heat straight to my core. "You think you can wear things that beg to be ripped off, and I won't collect what belongs to me?" I gasped as his rough fingers hooked under the delicate lace of my panties, snapping the thin fabric effortlessly. "Aarav, please-" "Please what?" He bit down on the sensitive skin of my neck, swallowing my desperate whimper. His thick thigh forced my knees apart, leaving me completely, helplessly exposed to his burning, pitch-black gaze. "Tell me exactly what you want. Use your words, Priyanshi." My nails dug into his broad shoulders, my entire body trembling with a heavy, throbbing ache that only he could cure. I looked into the eyes of the devil I married, finally surrendering to his darkness. "Please," I sobbed, my hips arching eagerly into his touch. "Please, Aarav. Take it." A wicked, triumphant smirk touched his lips. "Good girl. Now, scream for me." · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · Priyanshi Verma prayed to Krishna for a fairytale love story. Instead, she was sold to the Devil in a bespoke suit. Aarav Rathore. Billionaire. Mafia king. A man who doesn't know how to love, only how to own. He married her to control her. She married him to save her family. He wants to break her innocence. She wants to escape his cage. But in the darkness of their bedroom, where hate turns into heat and resistance turns into moans, the lines blur. A story of a forced marriage, dark obsession, and a lust so violent it might just look like love. ┈┈